


The End of Time

by Toshi_Nama



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Town, Angst, Dungeon, I'll rescue myself, M/M, Memories, delerium - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26257417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toshi_Nama/pseuds/Toshi_Nama
Summary: Not all stories have a happy ending...but they all end. It is what lies between the covers that matter. In life, love. In sorrow, peace. In death, sacrifice.
Relationships: Duncan/Riordan (Dragon Age)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	The End of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [track_04](https://archiveofourown.org/users/track_04/gifts).



All he had was time, which meant all he could do was think. Every so often Howe or one of his guards would taunt him or attempt to ‘question’ him, but it didn’t matter. What could they do against a man that no longer had a heart, a Warden that had survived the pain of the Joining?

Nothing they could do was as bad as what the nights brought.

Urthemiel’s Song twining through his dreams was almost a relief compared to the rest.

**

_ “What are we doing here, Duncan?” _

_ The thief-turned-Warden grinned. This was long before lines of weariness and responsibility etched themselves deep into his face. “We’re following the trail, of course. Darkspawn came through here at some point, I’m sure of it.” _

_ Riordan twitched his nose. Yes, they were Wardens, but they’d been sent to Weisshaupt for another reason, and they were going to be late. Very late. He glanced around him, taking in the sagging skeletons of houses. The desiccated wood was ready for the next stiff breeze to pull it apart and bury what had once been a village under the relentless gritty sand. It had taken all of one week to decide he hated the Anderfels. _

_ But no, the Warden-Commander had sent them, and a Warden’s duty was to follow darkspawn wherever they picked up the trail, and so they were here in the deserted Blighted remains of what had been a thriving farmland Ages ago. _

_ “It’s getting late, and we’re tired.” _

_ One dark eyebrow raised as his partner’s merriment still showed through. “Oh? Are you  _ propositioning  _ me, Warden?” _

_ “I’m - you - gah, you’re impossible!” Riordan laughed along before their lips found each other. “This is just because you’re the only Ferelden thing in this blasted place, you know that, right?” _

_ “Uh-huh.” _

**

He shook his head blearily, but it only made the ache worse. Or was that remembering the way they had once been able to be light-hearted, long ago?

“Why?” The whispered question snuck out of cracked lips. “Why was it you?”

**

_ Both their heads were still dark, but he had the wings of age that Duncan had somehow managed to avoid. _

_ “Let me come with.” _

_ Duncan shook his head, though how much was at him and how much was at the Call they both felt, Riordan couldn’t say. “No. The King believes me, and we need the Wardens of Orlais. What will one more blade do, even yours? We need an army. Persuade them, Warden. Come back at the head of the blades we need. I’ll prepare the way. Damn Ferelden stubbornness.” _

_ He snorted. “Not that you or I would know anything about that.” _

_ Lines fanned out from the corners of Duncan’s eyes as he smiled, and it was almost enough. “Of course not. I promise, you’ll have a King’s welcome when you come back.” _

**

‘A King’s welcome’ indeed. A poisoned chalice - how Orlesian of the Regent. The irony was not lost on him. He’d fought against Orlais, too - naught but a child, he’d passed letters and messages between the rebel armies while Chevaliers stole the wheat from his fields. He’d watched - he’d learned to hide. Those very skills were what the Wardens admired when he left to find them, to find another war to fight.

None of it mattered now. The Orlesian Wardens were still on the wrong side of the border, and the King - and his welcome - were cold and forgotten in Ostagar, along with what had remained of his heart.

Then he heard a noise. Footsteps coming down the stairs? His mind started working, puzzling it out. Four sets of footsteps, he was certain of it.

“Wonder what that is,” said the jailer outside his cell. He’d long since stopped worrying about the ‘dangerous Warden’ who sat broken, scrawny, and lost in his own thoughts in the corner of the cell.

Warden.  _ Wardens.  _ He could feel the tingle of the Taint as they came. No, came the sudden decision.  _ Duncan - or his recruits - will not find me here, desperate for rescue.  _ He had his pride, and he had lulled the jailor into complacency.

One movement swifter than the other man had seen and he was against the bars, a long arm reaching out.

Muscle mattered less than sinew and stubbornness, when it came to breaking a man’s neck.

The Wardens had paused at the sounds, and it was enough for him to get dressed. The armor was ill-fitting, but better than the rags he’d had.

“Thank you,” he said in his rusty voice, “for your distraction, Wardens.”

**

_ Urthemiel soared above the heart of Ferelden, and Riordan tracked him. The Song was cruel in its seductiveness, but he knew that.  _ Join me  _ meant nothing to a man who had fought for twenty-five years, twenty-two of them at the side of a man who had given everything to make this moment possible. _

_ When the time came, he jumped. _

_ When his blade slipped, he smiled. _

_ Duncan, I’m coming. _


End file.
